


What Am I To You?

by jinhyukks



Category: History (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Angst, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Physical Abuse, kyungjeong - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 02:51:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6638359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinhyukks/pseuds/jinhyukks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yijeong was scared. Kyungil's anger was something that always left him petrified, but no matter how many slaps to the face he received, or kicks to the stomach the elder put out, he couldn't walk away. He would just sit there and take it. Because that's what love was. Love was sacrifice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Am I To You?

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old fic I wrote back in '13 based off of the MV with the same name. I decided to move it here since there are a lack of History fics. Sorry if there are any mistakes, like I said, it's old. Hope you enjoy none-the-less!

_I see myself falling for your tricks,_  
_You do whatever you want as you play with me._  
_I see myself being played by the palm of your hands._  
_Are you having fun? Is this funny?_  
_This is a sad game only to me._

 

“You need to slow down, Kyungil. If you drink any more you won’t be able to walk home,” Yijeong commented, sighing as the elder drank yet another shot of something alcoholic.

Kyungil slammed the glass down on the bar, glared at Yijeong and grunted out, “Don’t tell me what to do.” Yijeong flinched at the sharp tone and immediately shut his mouth. He kept quiet for the next few minutes, watching as the elder drank two more shots along with another full bottle of beer. After that, he lit up a cigarette and took a long drag, turning to exhale the smoke directly in the younger's face with a smirk. Yijeong closed his eyes and his nose scrunched up in disgust. He hated it when the other did that, but he also knew that’s exactly the reason Kyungil did it.

Two beautiful, young girls sitting at a nearby table winked and giggled playfully at Kyungil. He noticed them and in return he sent them a stunning grin. Yijeong sighed sadly, figuring he’d probably have to walk home alone. Kyungil would go off and have sex, then stumble into their shared apartment sometime early the next morning.

Yijeong hated it when Kyungil drank, smoked, or carelessly had sex. Mostly because it wasn’t healthy but also because the elder was his boyfriend. It made Yijeong constantly question himself. He wasn’t good enough, or else Kyungil wouldn’t do all the horrible things he did.

Why did Kyungil have to drink constantly? Did he hate being around Yijeong that much? Was he boring? Was he too dull or dimwitted? Kyungil practically fucked anything that was good looking or walked on two legs. But what about those times that Kyungil bent Yijeong over like a dog and took him from behind? Or even more rare, the times when Kyungil would be gentle and loving. Where he’d cup the younger’s face in his hands and go slow, making sure Yijeong always felt good. But more often than not, Kyungil would spend his nights elsewhere, leaving Yijeong in a cold and empty bed.

No matter who Kyungil went home with he’d come in the next morning with a hangover and demand Yijeong take care of him.

Many times Yijeong thought about leaving Kyungil, but things such as this weren’t that simple. Kyungil was the love of his life. Not in a lovesick, teenage girl kind of way, but in a, ‘I can’t live without you,” way. The dangerous kind of love. Without Kyungil, Yijeong felt nonexistent. He felt like nobody. He gave the other purpose. Kyungil, though flawed, possessed Yijeong.

So it came as more than a shock when Kyungil stood, completely blowing the two girls off who had approached him. He stood and said to the younger, “Let’s go.” Kyungil had the kind of commanding voice that forced you to listen. So Yijeong stood and followed behind like the lost puppy he was.

As they walked down the street, Yijeong glanced out the corner of his eyes to size the elder up. That was the first time in a while that Kyungil had rejected an offer to go home with someone.

Yijeong took his chances and latched onto Kyungil’s arm, leaning his head on the elder’s shoulder. Kyungil didn’t shove him off and the dark-haired boy sighed happily.

“I love you Kyungil,” He spoke softly, looking up at the taller male with hope in his eyes.

Kyungil nodded and made a small grunt of confirmation.

* * *

When they arrived home, Kyungil collapsed on the couch with a glass of wine in hand. The elder wasn’t picky with his drinks as long as they were alcoholic. Yijeong sat beside him, a smile on his face, and they watched television together in silence. Yijeong spent most nights alone, so to actually have Kyungil home for once was nice. He could easily get used to spending time together like this. Like a normal, functional couple.

Kyungil suddenly caught sight of something lying on the floor across the room and he went stiff. His eyes widened and he felt anger well inside of himself with the force of a tornado. Abruptly, he stood, walking over and picking up the article of clothing. Upon closer inspection he felt his rage boil over as his suspicions were confirmed true. He whirled around and threw the dirty pair of jeans at Yijeong’s feet.

“So you think it’s okay to see guys behind my back huh?!” The younger’s eyes went wide with shock as he picked up the black jeans, examining them.

He looked up at Kyungil and quickly shook his head, feeling panic start to rise within himself. “N-no these are mi-“

“So that’s what you do when I’m not here? Whore around?” Kyungil spat, his fists balled up, fingernails digging into his palms. “You so much of a cock slut that you couldn’t at least wait until I got home?!”

Yijeong flinched at the elder’s words. Kyungil was the one who went around fucking anything that moved, not him. But he doubted pointing that out would get him anywhere in this argument. Yijeong didn’t have a reason to sleep around. His heart, soul, and body would always belong to Kyungil. Whether he liked it or not. “Kyungil, these are mine!”

The elder busted out in a fit of scary laughter. “I know what size you wear and these are way too big for you.” His glare was fierce and filled with rage. It made Yijeong want to retreat to the corner of the room.

Yijeong lowered his head, keeping silent. They were actually his jeans. An old pair of pants he had when he was younger. But since he had lost of weight so they seemed too large when paired next to his now smaller frame. He found them buried in the back of his closet and planned to throw them out. Trying to explain this to Kyungil now would be futile. When he got into these rage fits, nothing could calm him down, nor change his thoughts.

Yijeong’s silence, the way he didn’t explain himself, only angered Kyungil even more. “Stand up!” He barked, and Yijeong immediately did as he was told. Kyungil walked over, his heavy steps echoing in the younger’s ears, warning him of the action that was to come next. He knew this part of their relationship all too well. Once Kyungil reached him, he lifted his hand then slammed it across Yijeong’s face. Instantly the skin started to redden and Yijeong let out a small whimper at the contact. But other than that he remained silent.

Kyungil didn’t like it when he was silent. It made him feel insecure, like Yijeong was hiding something. That was infuriating because Yijeong was _his._ He wasn’t allowed to hide secrets or lie. It wasn’t right.

The way Yijeong kept silent. The way he didn’t even put up a fight. It only made Kyungil’s rage stronger. Once again he raised his hand and hit him once again, and again, trying to convey his fury and sadness in every slap.

“Why do you make me do this to you!?” He yelled furiously, bunching up Yijeong’s collar in his fists. He pulled the younger closer to him, almost snarling at him.

Yijeong was scared. No, he was beyond that. He was frightened. Kyungil’s anger was something that always left him petrified but no matter how many slaps to the face he received, or kicks to the stomach the elder put out, he couldn’t walk away. He would just sit there and take it. Because that’s what love was. Love was sacrifice.

Besides, when you broke it all down, it’s not like Yijeong really had a choice in the matter.

Kyungil scoffed and shoved Yijeong to the ground, stepping over his body without so much as a glance back. The younger flinched when he heard the door slam shut. He lay there for a few moments, the sting on his cheeks still fresh and flaming, but he didn’t move. He just soaked in the still silence that surrounded him. It hung in the air thick and dry, the kind of air that made it hard to breathe. His eyes shifted, glancing around. He saw the old pair of pants lying on the couch, and the unfinished glass of wine Kyungil had left on the coffee table.

Yijeong wondered how many times he had ended up in this position; lying on the floor in pain. Sighing, he rolled over and pushed himself off of the ground. His face still ached slightly, but he knew that it would eventually fade away into numbness. It always did.

He trudged into the bedroom, walking across the faded red carpet to stand in front of the full length mirror. He stripped down until he was only in his underwear, needing to change clothes anyways. There he looked over his reflection.

He saw how dull and lifeless his eyes looked. He glanced over his body, examining all the bruises and scratches he had, old and new. All caused by the man he loved.

What did it mean? Love wasn’t supposed to be like this, was it? For some reason Yijeong thought he probably never knew what real love was to begin with anyways.

He lowered his head, his gaze connected with the ground, and walked towards his bed. He pulled the covers over his small frame and inhaled heavily. And as he felt himself drift off the one thought that echoed throughout his mind was a soft, “Why?”

* * *

When Kyungil returned several hours later, it was only around 3 in the morning, but Yijeong was already awake. He was sitting on the couch staring at the television but it wasn’t on. Kyungil threw his black leather jacket on the coat rack and walked over to the couch, looking down at Yijeong with a confused expression. He even flinched slightly when the younger suddenly stood.

“Kyungil…” He started, keeping his eyes focused on the ground. “What am I to you?” His voice was barely above a whisper. When the elder remained silent, only the sound of his breathing signaling he was still there, Yijeong continued. “All you ever do is slap me, or call me pathetic-“

“Yijeong…” Kyungil warns, his tone low and dangerous.

But the other didn’t stop. He had finally gathered enough courage to say what had been bothering him for a while. He couldn’t stop now.

“When was the last time you told me you loved me?” He questioned, fiddling with the hem of his shirt out of nervousness. “I don’t know what’s going on in your mind. All you do is go clubbing and fuck others when I’m not around-”

_Slap!_

There it was again. That same gesture that Kyungil always resorted to when Yijeong treaded on dangerous waters. But he still didn’t want to stop. He felt the tears start to form in the corners of his eyes but he bit his lip to silence them down.

He lunged forward and clutched desperately at Kyungil’s shirt, bunching it up in his bawled fists. “I love you, you bastard! But why isn’t that enough?!” His voice was now shaking with anger, sadness, regret, and longing. He just wanted Kyungil to treat him with love, not aggression. “Why…Why isn’t it enough?” Finally he couldn’t hold back anymore and he felt the tears fall from his eyes.

He sobbed softly into Kyungil’s chest while the elder remained silent. He didn’t confirm Yijeong’s suspicious, nor did he deny them. He just simply wrapped his arms around the younger, resting his chin on the top of his hazel-colored hair, but he kept silent.

What could he say to the man he loved? Kyungil depended on Yijeong to always be there for him, not matter how badly he acted. He could always trust Yijeong to be there to take care of him, to love him. So why did he act out? He wasn’t sure. At some point, it just became a habit; a lifestyle. They had always had this bond, this dependency on one another, and now it was starting to fall apart.

Yijeong was an emotional soul, but little did he know that Kyungil was a thousand times more fragile than he was.

But love required sacrifices, right?

_Everyone tells me to cut you out,_  
_That it'll be over if I just turn around._  
_But don't you know?_  
_Don't you think I know all of that?_  
_I can't let you go._  
 


End file.
